Monster Works
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: Look twice at your neighbors! And don't vandalize! A halloween fic, set in AU font. Oliver, with love.
1. Chapter 1

Happy Halloween, everybody! ^.^

_*I do not own Fringe. It does own me._

1.

"Peter."

No response.

"P_eeeee_ter," his father continued in singsong. Peter snorted as something soft tickled the underside of his nose, and lifted his hand to bat the sensation away. Walter ran the feather across his lip again, smiling fondly, "Wakey wakey, sunshine."

Peter groaned, pushing Walter's feather away and shrouding his face in the dusty sheets, "Is it the equinox? Or did you just have another bad dream?" he questioned flatly.

"No, son- it's fall, it's fall!" Walter said excitedly, "Or autumn, if you want to be formal about it. But I don't like the word 'autumn'- it feels too stuffy."

"Speaking of stuffy, howsabout you put a shirt on, huh?" Peter coughed, sitting up to rub grains of dirt from his eyes. He blinked his eyes open for the first time in three months, and was nearly depressed at what he saw- the interior of a tattered, abandoned bedroom, its Victorian grandeur long fallen to dust and disrepair. But he was always depressed, after what his father called 'inverse hibernation'- maybe it was the thought of how much time had passed, that he was aware of it.

He hadn't seen summer since his sixteenth birthday.

Walter rolled off of his son, playing with the ratted old feather in his fingertips and ignoring his suggestion, "I started coffee down in the kitchen, I know how cranky you can get, after the hot months. The smell reminds me of when you would wake me, when you were young… always surprising me with breakfast. The problem is, all you could ever make was peanut butter sandwiches…" Walter chuckled, grinning over at him, the twin peaks of large canines glinting in the dim, "Your mother hated peanut butter."

" And it always got stuck to the roof of your mouth," Peter answered, reaching out to ruffle his father's messy hair.

"But I enjoyed it. Because you're my pup. And I love you." Walter bounced up from the feather mattress, tightening his belt around his waist to hold up his oversized trousers. It ran in the family that they lost a dangerous amount of weight, during sleep, "I'm going to head down, see about making some breakfast. Hopefully there's still something useable, and we might be able to put on some bulk, before we head out tonight." He sauntered out of the room and into the drafty hall, the dirty cuffs of his slacks scuffing the dust to elongate his footprints.

Peter sighed and stretched, scratching dust caked on his scalp and under his armpits. At length he pushed the covers away, hugging his warm knees to his chest and rubbing his arms against the chill. The air felt wet, as if a heavy dew had not yet cleared itself away for the thin, bright sunlight.

Despite his hollow feelings upon waking, Peter felt perfectly energized, and could feel his new blood, granted from his slumber, trickling warmly across his muscles and he stood, stretching the kinks from his limbs. He pulled on a robe over his under shorts and undershirt, and shuffled into the bathroom.

The water ran red with rust in the sink as he squeaked open the tap, the pipes in the walls churning and shuttering with ancient strain. Peter let it run over his hands, twisting the grit in his fingers until the water ran clear. He filled his palms with water and splashed it over his face.

Peter frowned at his own reflection in the cobwebbed mirror, his thin fingers scratching at the stubble on his hollowed cheeks. He still looked very much like a corpse- he'd always been jealous of how fast Walter 'filled out' his skin, after every oversummer. Peter, however, would continue to look half-mummified until he got around to drinking something.

Impatiently, Peter stooped to suck water through his cracked lips, tasting of rust.

He shuffled at last down the creaking spiral stairs from the loft. Downstairs was in even worse shape, if there was such a thing; it appeared that it had been heavily vandalized, in the time he had been out. But repair would be simple, now that he had another nine months of sleeplessness. At least he would have something to _do_.

"Walter, no wings at the table," Peter said as he entered the low kitchen, sliding onto a stool at the counter as he took up a steaming cup of black coffee.

"I'm only trying to stop the draft," Walter replied reasonably, his voice muffled behind a wall of sorrel-grey feathers that shrouded him, "it's making it hell, trying to cook pancakes."

"Pancakes _again?_" Peter said, looking over a trash magazine that had been left behind, "we always have pancakes, Walter. I'm craving an omelet."

"Nope, nope. You need the carbs, and flapjacks are the fastest way to get them," Walter turned, folding his surplus appendages behind himself to fit snugly against his spine- this would have been perfectly concealable, had Walter been wearing a shirt as requested. He pushed off a golden-colored pancake onto a plate, "Surprise! I made peanut butter syrup!" He beamed.

"Gross," Peter agreed, "don't put any on mine."

"Tsk. You'll like it. Besides, peanut butter is the only thing the rats and weevils haven't gotten into."

"Great," Peter grumped, jamming a fork into the stack of pancakes and hauling them off the plate to take a massive bite.

"For the love, Peter, _chew_ your food," Walter said disapprovingly, pausing to refill his son's coffee cup and move back to the stove, "I know you're in a hurry to fill out, I can't imagine going around looking like jerky, myself, but _please_."

"Thanks, Walter. Really good for my self esteem," Peter swigged his coffee, and returned to his consumption.

"You have your mother's appetite, I sometimes think," Walter said, shutting off the burner and sliding his own pancakes onto his plate. He sat and began to slather them with the caramel-colored syrup, "It's a real pity she tried to eat you. Women of our kind simply aren't that stable, I think. Speaking of which, you need to find a nice girl of your own-"

"Hey, no. Let's not start into that again," Peter warned, "We've been over this- I don't want a girl, not yet. And don't think you have any say in that, alright? So just back off."

Walter sighed, poking at his pancakes with disinterest, "But _Peter_," he whined at last, "I want _grandpups_. And I'm not getting any younger."

"I don't want to have children with some woman that will try to _eat_ them, when they reach adolescence," Peter snapped. He glared at his plate, knocking his tail against the underside of his chair, "human woman don't eat their kids."

"Human? What do humans have to do with anything?" Walter questioned, lost.

"Forget it," Peter said. He took another drink of his coffee, "Make me some more pancakes. I don't want to go to the store looking like king Tut. And put on a shirt, for the last time."

xXx

After shaking the dead moths out of his clothes and taking a bath, Peter felt that he had taken on enough water to reconstitute his cells, to look at least halfway normal. He found the station wagon where they had left it in the locked garage- the car was a piece of junk, but it was nice to have something to take into town, after oversummer, and they kept the vehicle locked in a fortified annex next to the well house. Peter wondered if the car were as old as the house and his father combined.

Peter siphoned out the old gas, refilling it with a jerry can he had filled for just that purpose months earlier. He pushed aside a few pieces of Walter's collection of animal taxidermies and hauled down the chain to open the garage door, letting in the light and wind to swirl around the dust.

Farm country. Too much dust.

Peter grunted as he lowered himself into the drivers' seat, pushing aside the newspaper that covered the upholstery, "Okay, are you going to work for me, today…?" He questioned, and slid the key into the ignition, turning it.

"Oil?" Someone questioned, and Peter jumped. Walter was stooped to watch him, his arms on the sill of the passenger window. His brows rose with surprise, "did I frighten you, son?"

"No," Peter lied, "I heard you coming." Another lie- he'd been trying not to exercise his hearing too much, as it made it harder to endure the noises of town, "Listen. I'm going into town with the list. Is there anything you need?"

"Toothbrush," Walter answered, "ooh- and can you see if they have candied apples? I want one of those. But if you can't get that, get me something chocolate. But no sprinkles- you know how I detest sprinkles. Useless things."

Peter chuckled, "Whatever, Walter. I'll say hi to your girlfriend, if I see her."

Walter's pale complexion reddened a bit, "I haven't been able to find Gene," he confessed, motioning out at the desolate, yellow field of dying grass just beyond an old plank fence. It seemed to stretch on forever, "The Tullocks promised me they wouldn't take her to market, they know how much I adore her…"

"I was talking about Astrid," Peter frowned.

"Who?"

"Never mind. I'll be back in a bit," Peter said, grinding the shifter into gear as he pulled out of the garage.

"Make sure to put in a quart, when you get to the petrol station!" Walter called after him as the station wagon rumbled away in a cloud of dirt and gravel, and he frowned and fidgeted uncomfortably, "I worry about that boy…"

Peter was adjusting his mirrors on his way down the driveway when he spotted a singular figure, picking its way along the side of the road among the tall, yellowed weeds beside the barbed wire fence. A smile found Peter's slightly cracked lips before he could stop it, and he slowed the car to a stop, "Hey, lady!" he called out.

Astrid Farnsworth laughed, approaching the off drivers side, placing her palm on the dirty windshield as she placed her other hand on her hip, provocatively displaying her denim cut-offs, "Hey, mister! Lookin' for a good time, sailor?"

Peter chuckled, "'Morning, Astrid. Walter's up at the house, and- ohmigawd, I love you!" he exclaimed as she offered a bottle of cola through the window, and he took it, twisting it open and drinking deeply.

"You look a little dehydrated. I was hoping to get up there before you guys got up- how late am I?"

"Walter got me up early this morning," Peter licked the sugar off his lips, then wiped them on his sleeve.

"Rats. I made lunch," Astrid offered, holding up a basket no doubt filled with various delicious, homemade foodstuffs, "I made pumpkin pie."

"I'm sure Walter will appreciate the vittles, but I've got to go and pick up a few things," Peter said apologetically, "I myself was subjected to his pancakes and peanut butter syrup, this morning."

Astrid made a face, which still somehow managed to be adorable.

"Yeah, I know. Anyways, see you in a bit," Peter said, "And thanks for the coke." Astrid smiled and waved, as he drove away.

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

2.

The interior of the convenience store smelled of pumpkin spice scented candles. The air inside was warm, and rushed out to welcome him as he pulled open the broad glass door, littered now and again with sales information, and a bright pink flyer about breast cancer awareness. Peter was immediately greeted with a display of faux leaves and brambles, surrounding a grinning pumpkin scarecrow.

Oh, yes. It was fall, wasn't it? Halloween was approaching.

Peter _hated_ Halloween.

Memories of his awful childhood ran through his mind bitterly as he gazed upon a plastic cauldron filled with brightly-colored candy corns, and he sighed through his nose with distaste, taking up a basket and stuffing his hand into his pocket in search of the shopping list. He was staring down at it when he suddenly heard a call- "Hey, Frankenstein!"

Peter glanced up, his eyes narrowing as he bared his teeth defensively, and he exclaimed as he caught a green trick-or-treat pail, a bolt-necked depiction of The Creature that had been flung in his direction.

"Great catch!" Someone exclaimed, and Peter looked up again, "Sorry, it got away from me, and all I could think to yell was 'Frankenstein'."

Peter stared at the woman before him, her freckled face flushed with the autumn chill and her arms filled with bags of colorful candy. She grinned sheepishly and blew a stray lock of platinum colored hair from her hazel-green eyes. It was amazing how Peter had immediately memorized her every detail…

"The Creature," Peter managed at last.

"What?"

"The Creature," Peter repeated, holding up the plastic pail, "a lot of people call The Creature 'Frankenstein'- it's not. Frankenstein was the doctor that created…" Peter trailed off, awkward, "…Sorry."

"A monster buff, huh?" The woman questioned.

"Something like that."

"Liv!" A young girl came rushing down the aisle, bouncing happily as she reached them, "Olivia, which should I be? A fairy…" she held up a pair of glittery, purple fairy wings, "…or a skeleton?" She offered a skeleton mask.

Ah. Olivia.

"Oh, I don't know," Olivia said, kneeling to look at them. She considered thoughtfully, "You'd be a beautiful fairy, but a skeleton is pretty scary."

The girl looked thoughtful, a replica of Olivia's care. She abruptly turned to Peter, "What do _you_ think?"

Peter blinked, then smiled, "Gee, I don't know. Those wings are very pretty."

The girl brightened, "Okay!" and darted away.

Olivia was laughing, as she stood, "Sorry. She never listens to grown ups anyways, she's a real free spirit. Odds are, she'll be a pirate."

"No, it's alright. I'm only glad I could help- or, at least I think I did."

"I'm Olivia," Olivia said, shifting the candy to offer her hand.

_I know._

Peter swapped away the plastic pail, shaking her hand, "I'm Peter. Does she get her free spirit from her mother?"

"No, no, her aunt. She's my niece. I love her to pieces, the little monster," Peter blinked at the comparison, and she didn't notice, "But I think that's because I'm the aunt. Aunts get to have all the fun with none of the mothering."

"Mom's aren't that much fun anyways," Peter agreed.

"I know, right?"

"So, are you… do you live hereabouts?"

"No. I'm visiting my sister for the holidays. What about you? Are you visiting?"

_Might as well be_. "Yeah, sure. Visiting… my father. He's… old."

"That's nice. What are you doing for Halloween?"

"Oh- nothing. I hate Halloween," he fidgeted under her gaze, "bad memories, all that," he explained at last.

"Too much candy?"

"Something like that."

Olivia chuckled, "I only ask because of your horns," she smirked.

Peter's hand snapped to the top of his head with a curse as color swept over his face. He'd trimmed his hair too short- the twin points of dark, felt-like skin and black bone were painfully visible to even a casual glance.

"Where'd you get those? They're really good-" Olivia frightened him by stepping forward to reach up, smoothing her fingertips over one, "-wow. They feel _real_."

"Uh- yeah, yes, I got them… online. For Halloween, whatever."

"They're cute," Olivia beamed.

Peter felt the back of his neck grow hot, "Thanks." He looked down at the list in his hand, and jumped slightly, "Oh- I've got to pick up a few things, so… I guess I'll see you around?"

Olivia nodded, "Yeah."

Peter immediately set out in search of bittersweet cocoa powder, unaware that he still held a trick-or-treat pail in his fist.

xXx

"I'm home!" Peter called as he entered the kitchen through the back door, tossing the keys down on the counter. He was surprised to see that some forms of cleanup had already started, as the floor had been mopped and the trash and broken furniture cleared out. He knew that it had probably been Astrid. There would be much more work to be done- he thought that perhaps he would get out the tar and reshingle the roof tonight… but the tingling feeling at the back of his neck told him that a storm was on its way.

Peter gave a sigh in the emptiness of the cold room, slumping into a chair and rubbing his sore shoulder. He looked up at the afternoon sunlight through the dirty kitchen window, how everything seemed a weak shade of yellow.

Another season was beginning, and what did he have to accomplish, for it? Fixing his house again, another nine months of renovations before he had to curl up in his bed again?

Alone?

"Walter, NO!"

Peter looked up from his misery, his pupils contracting into predatory slits with alarm as a large figure pounced through the entryway, scrambling on all fours to gain balance on the slick tile floor. Before Peter could register, he found himself on the table, hissing sharply with warning.

Walter lurched across the floor, his fangs bared as he brought his hands down to crush a small mouse to the floor. He batted at its flailing tail for a few moments as it squeaked in terror, before he scooped it up, eyeing his prey triumphantly.

"_Don't you dare!_" Astrid appeared in the kitchen, panting from the chase as she clenched a broom in her fists, "Don't you dare hurt it, Walter!"

"Hurt it?" Walter questioned, his slit pupils expanding round again, "I wasn't going to hurt it, I was going to eat it."

"No! Bad Walter!" Astrid raised the broom threateningly, and he flinched away, his tufted tail flicking in alarm, "Take it outside and let it go!"

"It'll just end up back in the house," Peter said, climbing down from the table as his father rose, the mouse still cupped between his fingers.

"I don't care! Let it go, it's terrified!"

"He'll just find it and eat it later," Peter said, and Walter nodded vigorously.

Astrid glared, "Don't encourage him, Peter," she growled, "I won't stand around and watch you eat that poor thing."

Walter looked at Peter for a few moments, considering. At last he turned back to Astrid, "…Shut your eyes?"

There was just now way to win, with the haphazard family Peter had somehow been saddled with.

xXx


	3. Chapter 3

3.

There was a game that Peter had learned from his father at a very young age- mainly to keep himself from appearing strange to the other children, at overnighters. The game Walter had taught him was one of 'sleep'- lying for hours perfectly still, breathing shallow, eyes shut tightly. Sometimes Peter would even trick himself mentally, thinking that perhaps the passage of time was something like what other people felt, when they dreamt.

Late into the night, Peter lay in his unmade bed, playing their game. Walter was winning, as he was curled up in the window seat- even his soft snoring noises were believable, a murmur every now and again about a random foodstuff, probably to amuse himself until the rain passed and he could go out and catch fireflies. He sometimes accidentally ate them.

Peter's thoughts at last came reeling around to his meeting with Olivia, in the convenience store. He flared his nostrils, hoping to catch the hint of a familiar scent left of her in his hair or on his clothes at the foot of the bed, when he remembered that all he could smell, at the time, was the pumpkin spice candles, and the nauseating sweet of candy corns. He did not have her smell to attach to his memories.

Carefully, Peter reached up to touch his horn, bitter at it's attachment but nostalgic at the thoughts of her touch. Perhaps he could get to know Olivia. By the time Halloween came and went, he would have grown enough hair to hide his… projections, and when the holidays ended, she would leave, and he would sleep. She would never have to know what he was. He could be… _human_.

"Walter," Peter murmured into the dark, his voice barely above the patter of rain on the sagging roof shingles outside.

"You lost the game, son," Walter replied casually, his spine stretching with a remarkably animal-like stiffness as he draped himself along the window seat comfortably, "damn it- so did I."

"Walter, if we get the house patched up soon, do you mind if we have someone over?"

Peter could _feel_ his father's smile, and his ears heated suddenly, "Certainly, Peter." Silence passed, and Peter had thought that Walter had returned to playing the game, when his father suddenly asked, "Is she pretty?"

Peter did not answer, rolling over to glare at the wall. "Go back to your room," he snapped at last.

xXx

"Budgerigar."

"_Melopsittacus undulates_."

"Blue jay."

"_Cyanocitta cristata_."

"Parrot."

"_Psittaciformes_. Come on, son, give me a good one. You're putting me to sleep, here."

Peter thought for a few moments as he picked window sealant off of his fingernail. Walter patiently waited, occupying his time by sweeping out the dust and cobwebs from the hall. "Kookaburra," Peter said at last.

" _Dacelo novaeguineae Dacelo leachii. _This game is boring."

Peter rolled his eyes, returning to his careful work of scraping chipped paint from the windowsill and smoothing it over with sandpaper before he could apply the rubber caulk. He came up with another bird name for his father to translate, "Cuckoo."

"_Walter,_" Peter glanced up and Walter chuckled, propping the broom against the wall before stooping to begin rolling up the hall rug, "Help me take this out, boy. It needs a good beating, and the sunshine will do to get the spiders out."

"Okay. After this we need to get to work on the water damage in the basement- it's starting to smell, down there."

"Lucky I moved out my vinyls. I think I've still got a few boxes of things down there, however probably ruined. What kind of mold, do you think?"

"I don't know, Walter. It's just _mold_."

"Different mold can do different things, son. Take for instance, penicillin. A useful use of mold, don't you think?"

"Walter, do you ever miss it?" Peter questioned as he carefully scraped away the excess caulk with a putty knife, "I mean, being… out there, when mom was still alive and you were a doctor. Meeting people, before they knew… what you were?"

Walter considered a few moments, "I do miss helping people, if that's what you're asking. But as to meeting people, getting to know them… no. Not even remotely."

"Why? Don't you miss having friends?"

"It looses its novelty after a while, son. Lying to people. Hiding what you are. If you think having to hide yourself to gain a bit of companionship is worth it, it's not. True friends… you never have to hide from them. I suppose I simply grew tired of trying to be everyone else but me," Walter strained to lift the hall rug, and at last gave up with a sigh, dusting the front of his trousers and deciding to roll the rug out, onto the porch.

Peter frowned down at his work, whispering, "_I_ think it'd be worth it."

"Of course you would," Walter responded, making Peter jump.

"It's just that- I think that anything would be better than-" Peter scrambled to defend his argument, and at last fell silent with a sigh. Walter only chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted an old tennis racket, headlining out the door.

Silence passed for a few hours, in the house. There was often long durations of silence while they worked, it was a quiet life, for two men with their minds often worlds apart.

xXx


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Peter looked up from shoveling ruined paperwork into the furnace in the basement, hoping to dry it out a bit, after he had mended the leaky pipes. Peter listened for a few moments, and could hear, over the many, strangely vocal noises of the house, the rush of brush on cloth and the gentle snapping of twigs in the distance. He glanced up in alarm.

Peter dropped the box of files onto a bit of empty counter space, starting for the stairs.

Peters motions became increasingly animal-like, as he climbed the house- he started on his own two feet up the steps, crossed the hall, then jumped, clawing his way up the banister of the staircase, scattering photographs frames from the wooden wall paneling as he hoisted himself to the second floor, landing on all-fours. He paused again to listen, as the noises of approach grew louder. Peter crept out of the open window at the landing, his dark wings flaring from his back briefly to aide him in his pounce from the recently reshigled overhang to seize the open beams of the attic, crawling to his perch in the concealing shade. Silently, he watched, and waited.

It was someone on foot, he could tell. The sound of a vehicle was somewhat unpleasant, to him, and he could hear one from miles off. But this was someone walking- and they were approaching surprisingly quietly. Peter shut his eyes for a few brief moments to inhale deeply, hoping for a chance of an identifying scent, then shook his head; whomever this was, they were down wind.

His ears registered another rustle, but his knew it was Walter and Astrid. Walter had heard the intruder too, it seemed, and Peter was certain he was on the silent path to interception. Peter ignored the noises, focusing in the direction of the walker.

Far off, down the driveway, Peter could see a form, striding quietly in the dust and rocks of the road. He strained his ears as much as he could, and could faintly hear their breathing. The stranger topped the hill, and Peter's eyes rounded with dread.

Olivia paused for a moment, wiping her brow on her dusty shirt sleeve, and Walter was a grey shadow among the failing colors of the grass, some distance from the road. He was still, watching her, no doubt gauging her threat level.

Peter turned to spring for another beam of the attic, clawing for a hold as he swung, releasing his grip to slam against the wall, hard. With a grunt of surprise, he scrambled and fell, landing on all fours on the creaking attic floor. He pulled open the hatch to the house, kicking down the stairs and fairly jumping down them.

Peter made his way to the front porch swiftly, pausing at the railing to squint down the road. Olivia was still approaching, and he could not see Walter. This was good news- perhaps Walter was too curious about her to deter her. Or perhaps it was bad news, as Peter looked down to find his clothes a mess.

Astrid emerged through the kitchen door, slightly out of breath, "Peter!" she called, "Walter said there's someone-" She paused as she spotted Peter throwing off his shirt in the living room, searching about desperately for a clean one, "Hell-o."

Peter looked up at her, "What?!" he snapped, flustered.

"Nothing, nothing," Astrid said cooly, "Just a new look, is all. I approve."

"Walter's letting her through?" Peter questioned, pulling a semi-clean shirt over his head. He smoothed it over his chest and sniffed it, hoping that he wouldn't offend.

"Yeah, I think so," Astrid said and Peter rushed about, giving an effort to cleaning up the renovations, "Why?"

"Walter's not the only one who can have visitors, you know," Peter frowned, dumping a box of tools into the hall closet and kicking the door shut.

"Oh."

"Why are you grinning?! I hate that! Walter does that!"

"Peter, there's a pretty blonde in the front yard," Walter mused from his place on the windowsill, and Peter and Astrid jumped. Walter examined his fingernails casually, "…she has a wonderful smell."

Peter suddenly found himself inexplicably jealous that his father had been the first to catch her scent, "Get down from the window!" Peter snapped, "Don't be so weird!"

Astrid and Walter blinked at each other for a few moments.. "Oh," Walter finally said.

"WHY ARE YOU GRINNING?!"

"Hello!" Came Olivia's call, "Is anyone home?"

"Okay, guys, I'm begging you," Peter whispered hurriedly, "Just- be normal around her, okay?"

"I'm not normal?" Astrid questioned, arching a brow, "I'm more normal than you are, fang face."

"My normal or your normal?" Walter asked, "'Cos your normal is hideously boring."

"Just behave!" Peter snapped.

"Good luck with _that_," Astrid frowned.

Walter raised his hand, "Question."

"I don't care!" Peter cried, "For once, just be _human_, for chrissake!"

Astrid issued a small, nearly mute gasp. Walter's eyes rounded slightly, then narrowed as his pupils contracted slightly, "No," he replied quietly, "I'm sorry, son. I can't do that. And I might point out the cruelty in asking such a thing of me."

"No- Walter, I'm sorry, I just-"

"I'll be out, if you have use for me," Walter said, slipping from the window to cross the room, disappearing out the kitchen door and into the sunshine. Astrid bit her lip as she glanced at Peter, then hurried out after Walter.

Peter sighed, racking his fingers back, through his hair. He turned to the front door, smoothed his shirt front once more, and started forward.

"Hello?" Olivia called again.

Peter opened the door onto the porch, trying to appear surprised, "Yes, hello? Olivia! Hey, what's up?"

"Peter?" She shaded her eyes, squinting, "Oh, hey! What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Peter frowned.

"Really?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

Olivia looked a bit embarrassed, "Oh- um, I was just out for a run this morning, and I remembered an old story my mom used to tell me and my sister. She said… it's stupid, but… she said this house was haunted."

"It's…? I'm sorry, it's _what_?"

"And I know it's a little removed, but I remembered that I've never been up here," Olivia said, chagrinned as she scratched the back of her neck uneasily, "I didn't know that anyone lived here, sorry."

"No- It's fine," Peter said, as she came up the steps and onto the porch, and he quickly composed a story, "I'd heard that, too. My father- he bought this place a little while ago, we've been renovating it," he said.

"So, is it?" Olivia grinned, striking a hair from her eyes.

"…is it what?"

"Haunted, silly."

"Oh! Nah- not unless you count the mold in the basement, I think that stuff has developed a hive intelligence, sometimes," Peter scratched his head, suddenly self conscious of his inhuman flaws. His tail in his trousers curled tighter against his thigh.

Olivia laughed, and Peter blurted out his offer- "Do you want to come in? I could give you a tour, if you want. It's not as grand as it seems, with as much work as needs to be done."

"Thanks, but no. Rachel and Emma are going to be worried as it is, I've got to be getting back."

"Who and who?"

"My sister and my niece. Ella's going as a ghost, by the way."

Peter laughed, "Great."

"Speaking of Halloween- are you going to the Harvest fair? I know you're not into Halloween, but I was wondering if you were going."

"When is it?" Peter questioned.

"The twentieth. I wouldn't be going, myself, but Emma really wants to, and Rachel doesn't know if she'll be able to take her. You don't have to go, I know you hate Halloween-"

"Nah," Peter said, trying to appear aloof as his palms sweated in his pockets, "I'll be there."_ As to how, I don't know._

Olivia smiled, "Great. I guess I'll see you there. Oh, and tell your father I said hello."

"I'll try," Peter smiled wryly.

"He doesn't like people?" Olivia questioned.

"People don't like him," Peter corrected.

Olivia shook her head, "I don't know how that is, if charm runs in the family. See you around, Peter," Olivia said, descending the steps.

"See you," Peter answered. He retreated to the front door, waved, and scrambled to the attic to covertly watch her leave. Walter was right- her scent was amazing.

xXx

A tattered, faded blue kite was wedged in the tallest branches of Walter's favorite tree. Truthfully, is was the only tree around for miles- and it was a squat, scraggly little thing, with hardly any leaves, even in the spring. The kite had been there since before even Peter could remember, as if a vain attempt at a beautification effect for the rather ugly tree, an homage to Walter's own love of kite flying. It was the first thing Peter saw as he neared the top of the knoll out in back of the house, sighing as he thought of the offence he had caused. He stopped to hear Astrid speaking.

"That's not what it means."

"It is what it means. It accounts for the banishment of all of the wonderfully dangerous delicatessens. The best food is deadly. Rhubarb is poison, if not properly processed, but it makes wonderful pie, as you yourself have so aptly demonstrated."

"You're saying the best things in life are dangerous?"

"No. But they are a whole hell of a lot of fun."

"Am I dangerous?"

"Potentially."

"Am I fun?"

"Absolutely."

Peter frowned, deciding to stop this before it started, and he made himself very audible as he tramped up the hill, stopping just beyond the reach of the canopy of the tree, overlooking the grassy slope of the other side, "Reel it in, Walter," Peter frowned.

Walter tilted his head to look up from Astrid's lap, and Astrid turned red in spite of herself, clearing her throat, "Hello, Peter," Walter said lazily.

"Hey," Peter replied, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Walter was staring at him until Astrid leaned down to whisper something reassuring into his ear, stroking his hair comfortingly. Walter sighed, then sat up, at last climbing to his feet.

"Listen, Walter, I'm sorry," Peter said, looking down at his own, battered work boots, "I-I shouldn't have said something like that, to you-"

"When I escaped the facility," Walter said quietly, "I hated humans. Despised them. Wished them every ill you could possibly imagine, and saw to it that those ills were achieved."

"I know, Walter-"

"No, you don't," Walter snapped, "You _do not_, Peter. The point of what I am trying to tell you is that I am sorry, as well. All things fade, with time, and just as some humans can be cruel beyond compare, I… was also very cruel. But, there are others," Walter glanced only slightly to his side, motioning to Astrid, who sat in the grass quietly, "everyone is different. I can't be what I'm not, and it was wrong of me to demand that you be something else, either."

"What am I?" Peter questioned.

Walter smiled, moving forward to place a hand on Peter's shoulder, "_Lonely_, son."

xXx


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Tonight, tonight, tonight. Everything he had done the previous night, and throughout the day, had told him of nothing else. Tonight- the thought of the Harvest fair was something Peter both looked forward to, and secretly dreaded. His father wasn't the only one that did not do well, around people.

Peter had debated on what to wear even, annoyed at Walter's chuckles and grateful for Astrid's pointers, until the two had scampered off some place to leave him in peace. He felt that he looked reasonably decent in one of his better pairs of jeans, and one of the shirts Astrid had brought him after oversummer, and he decided to keep his stubble, feeling that it somehow managed to hide his apparent paleness. Careful to muss his hair in just the right places to obscure his horns, Peter had synched his wings back with a belt around his chest, and tucked his tail into the leg of his trousers. He looked, he assumed, reasonably human.

Peter was getting the Vista Cruiser set and refilling the oil, careful not to get any on him, when the front door had slammed in announcement, and he had looked up.

Astrid stood on the front porch with Walter, the both of them shrugging on coats in the Autumn chill, "I think he's ready…" Astrid said uneasily.

"I don't know, son," Walter said, descending the stairs as his son's eyes widened, "do I look…" Walter paused, holding his arms away from himself to display his average-looking clothes and jacket, and apparent lack of non-human appendages, "…'normal', as you so aptly put it?"

Peter stared at his father, "Walter- you're _going_?"

"Well, yes," Walter said, with a slight huff, "What good is you going to a fall celebration to look normal to your new girlfriend if you don't bring along your completely boring old pappy to complete the effect?" Walter frowned with a flush as he jammed his hands into the pockets of his coat. Astrid smiled fondly, looping his arm with her own, "Unless you don't want me to."

"No, I-I was just surprised," Peter admitted, "you don't like people, or looking… like _this_, it's not really your thing."

"Do you want me to go or not?!" Walter snapped, flustered, "I look like a fool here, Peter- make up your mind!"

"I'd like you to come, Walter," Peter conceded, "I'd like you to meet Olivia. And, thanks, I know this is awkward, for you."

"Awkward smawkward. You're buying me caramel corn for this, understand?" Walter pulled open the rear door of the station wagon, climbing inside.

"You don't want shotgun?" Peter questioned.

"No. And you," Walter pointed to Astrid, whom blinked in surprise, "yes, you. You're with me, get in."

Astrid shrugged with a chuckle, and climbed in after him, "Oh, wait, Walter, hold on a second. Your horns are kind of showing…" she took to plucking at his curls to cover his abnormalities.

Peter sighed with uncertainty, but smiled gratefully as he glanced back up at house for a few moments before rounding the hood, settling into the drivers seat, and starting the engine, "Alright. Here we go."

xXx

Peter could hear the shouting and smell the fogging breath of the dozens attending the Harvest festival, before they even arrived. In the back, Walter said nothing as the noises and smells became increasingly more intense as they neared, and he appeared aloof as Astrid debated with him whether or not they should go on the Ferris wheel. Peter found himself suddenly drawn to searching, in vain, for Olivia's scent in dozens, the sound of her laugh among so many featureless others. But these eluded him, as if just beyond his memories' reach.

A volunteer Boy Scout directed them into a vast, dirt parking lot, as he shivered in his shorts and breathing into his scarf to keep his running nose warm. The air outside the car was cold and damp as Peter shut off the engine and they emerged. The dark surfaces of car hoods glistened with moisture as they passed, and Walter ran his fingers across them absently as they passed, leaving black trails of water, in the orange light of the streetlamps.

"Olivia said she's meet us at the Pumpkin Patch," Peter explained as he purchased their tickets, trying not to shout. He knew the sounds of the crowd were not overwhelming to anyone other than his father and himself.

"Pumpkin Patch?" Walter questioned, arching a brow.

"It's a little place they set up for kids," Astrid explained briefly, "they tell stories, have crafts, pumpkin carving, all that."

"Why would she be there?" Walter asked, "unless she's dramatically younger than I had first thought."

"No. She's with her niece," Peter said.

Walter shrugged, "Whatever. It's your night, boy."

They waved off flyers being pressed on them at the front gate, and Peter and Walter flinched away with a rather audible hiss as a sudden flash erupted, and a woman came forward, holding out a ticket, "Be sure to pick up your photo at booth seven before you leave!" She chirruped, and moved on.

Walter glared after her until Astrid took his arm, leading him forward, and Peter stuffed the paper slip into his pocket as they moved on.

The bright, flashing lights of the many carnival games was giving him a headache accented by the constant roar of the crowd, as Peter finally spotted a wide, squat, orange tent that rather resembled a jack-o-lantern, black triangles painted on the canvas to portray eyes and a nose, "Cute!" Walter suddenly exclaimed, the first thing he had said since they had arrived.

"Yeah," Peter smiled, secretly relived that he had found the place. They laced their way through the crowd, and at last reached the entrance. An older, teacher-looking woman in a Halloween themed vest shushed them with a glare as they entered, and Walter grumpily shushed her back, irate as they had made almost no noise in the first place. Astrid batted him on the shoulder as she tried to hide her grin.

It became apparent as to why they had been shushed- it appeared to be story time. They took a seat on one of the low benches, when Peter and Olivia spotted one another, and waved. Peter would have continued to smile at her, had the story not caught his attention.

"Some call him the pumpkin thief," the old story teller, a woman shrouded in a dramatic, dark blue robe and hood, covered with sequin stars, continued in a spooky voice, "because it's said that at midnight, when the moon is full and highest in the sky, he sneaks inside your garden and takes your biggest, best pumpkin."

"Why does he take pumpkins?" a boy on the bench in front of them asked curiously.

"Because monsters only eat pumpkins," the storyteller explained.

"And children who ask questions," Walter added lowly, and the boy stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. Peter palmed his forehead.

"And when he gets all the pumpkins he can, he races back to his house and makes pumpkin stew," The storyteller continued, "With nutmeg and sugar-"

_"-and little boys,_" Walter hissed, his eyes sparking mischievously as he flashed his fangs at the boy, who was still staring. The boy suddenly let out a scream, springing up from his seat and racing away.

"Walter!" Astrid and Peter snapped at once, as he was chuckling darkly. The storyteller looked confused.

"I-I guess the story is too scary," the storyteller said, slightly shaken, "I'll stop, then." The children all let out a disappointed moan, before she announced, "Time for pumpkin carving!" to which they cheered.

Peter was reprimanding his father as the children were set into motion, racing around to find a friend to carve their pumpkin with, "I thought you said you wouldn't embarrass me!" Peter snapped

"Come on, Peter! You used to love it, when I threatened to make you into stew!"

"That was before mom tried to _eat me_!"

"You just can't let that go, can you? Every mother tries to do it some time. My father was nearly eaten by his mother, _I _was nearly eaten by _my _mother-"

"It wasn't exactly the best of experiences, Walter!" Peter said.

"Peter?" Someone asked, and he glanced up. Olivia looked warily confused of their argument, and Peter sprang to his feet, immediately smoothing the hair at the back of his neck, "Is something wrong?"

"What? No! I mean… Olivia, this is my father, Walter Bishop." Walter got to his feet, extending a hand.

"Olivia Dunham," Olivia answered, taking it, "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Bishop."

"Charmed," Walter smiled, "and actually, it's Dr. Bishop, but please, call me Walter." He suddenly stepped forward, taking a moment to covertly take in her scent, his eyes shut. Olivia retracted slightly, her brows furrowed at the bizarre experience, before Walter smiled, continuing, "Peter speaks of you fondly."

Peter felt his ears start to burn, and glared at his father, before Olivia shook off her thoughts with a smile, and turned her attention to Astrid, "Hello."

"Hi, I'm Astrid Farnsworth," Astrid smiled politely, and they shook hands.

Olivia looked slightly confused, behind her smile, as she looked back and fourth between Peter and Astrid, "Are you two…?"

"Peter and I? Hah, no. If anything, I guess you could call me a Bishop wrangler, keeping these two out of trouble," Astrid looped arms with Walter again, and he smiled at her, "Nope. Peter is single, so get him while you can," Astrid winked.

Peter's face drained of color as Olivia laughed, "I'll keep that in mind." she turned back to Peter, "So, I've got a little time to kill, before the Jack-o-lantern judging. You want to skip out for a caramel apple or something?"

"Well-" Peter started, foolishly wary of the depriving noises and smells that lay outside the solace of the tent.

"Peter, we're going to take off," Astrid said, "Walter wants to sign up for the pie eating contest, and I want to hit the haunted house. We'll meet you at the car after the fireworks at midnight, alright?"

"Okay," Peter said, trying to hide his relief, "go on, get out of here." _You've done enough damage._

"I'm sorry, but do you happen to know what kind of pie it will be, miss? Because there are certain factors of consumption that I must take into account, if I am to ingest enough to be the victor."

"Probably pumpkin- we all know that's all your kind eat…" Walter and Astrid disappeared out the tent flap, letting it float shut behind them.

Peter blew air through his cheeks, and Olivia cleared her throat, "So, that was your family," Olivia nodded.

"Yeah."

"They're characters, I can agree to that much."

"You have no idea. Anyways, how about I make up for it over some hot chocolate?" Peter offered with a smile.

"You're buying me drinks, now?" Olivia questioned jokingly.

"You've already got me punch-drunk, if it's any consolation," Peter said.

Color touched Olivia's features.

xXx

Peter couldn't have asked for a more blissfully normal night. He helped put lipstick on a jack-o-lantern (Ella wanted hers to be a _pretty_ pumpkin), spun a teacup, won a balloon for Ella at darts, and even managed to slip his arm around Olivia's shoulder's for a brief stint of turbulence on a hayride. He'd apologized, of course.

And as he watched the bright, colorful sparks of fireworks over the field and listened to the ooh's and ahh's of Olivia and Ella, he thought that maybe, for a few short moments, his headache had receded, and that tonight he might sleep and have a dream.

"Peter," Olivia said as he was about to leave for the car. She reached out to touch the back of his hand with a fond smile, "I had a lot of fun, tonight. Thanks."

"No problem," Peter smiled in return, "It's not the Halloween I'm used to, anyways. I enjoyed it."

"I'd like to do this again, some time," Olivia said, "I mean, if you want to. Like, do lunch, or something."

"That'd be great," Peter said. He looked down as she slipped something into his palm.

"My phone number. Good night, Peter," Olivia smiled, and headed for her car.

Peter rubbed the paper between his fingers and could smell the jasmine hand lotion she used. He smiled, folding the number into his pocket and turning on his heel with a whistle, sauntering off for the parking lot.

xXx


	6. Chapter 6

6.

A loud yell, a clatter, and a tremendous crash forced Peter to look up from his task of sweeping the dust out of the garage. He frowned, and returned to his work, waiting for the inevitable.

"Peter!" came Walter's call, "Peter, my boy, you simply _have _to try this!" Walter came trotting into the garage, small puffs of dust emitting from the footfalls of his house shoes, "…by the way, completely unrelated, but we _were_ thinking of replacing the stairs, weren't we?"

Peter frowned at his father flatly, setting his hands on his hips, "I thought you said you weren't feeling well."

Walter paused thoughtfully, and fidgeted nervously, "…I'm feeling better, now," he answered at last, then brightened, "But, really, you have to try this!"

"Walter, get back to the house and change out of your pajamas. You're not slacking off anymore," Peter said, returning to his sweeping.

Walter made a face, "But it's _windy_, today," he whined, "perfect kite weather!"

"_Go_," Peter growled, pointing toward the house.

Walter stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robe, slumping off gloomily.

"We don't have the time," Peter was grumbling to himself, "We've got to get this place patched up before the wet months…"

Peter's thoughts began to stray, as he moved a dusty box of chipmunk taxidermies, and he thought of the slip of paper tucked into his memo book, next to the phone in the parlor. It had been five days, since that night at the fair… And still, he had not found the courage to call Olivia. Astrid had said something about a week rule, something Peter did not understand… but he could not think of a _reason _to call Olivia, in any case. He never went anywhere, never did anything--

Peter looked up, and dropped the broom, heading for the house, "Walter!" he called as he went to the phone, grabbing up the old receiver, "Walter, get down here for a second!" Peter delved into the center compartment of the side table for the address book, flipping it open, "Walter!" he called again, impatient.

"Let me get some drawers on, for the love!" Walter called down, irked at his sons' hasty tone.

Peter found the small rectangle of paper with a number scribbled on it, and set the receiver into the crook of his neck, holding it carefully as he pressed the phone number into the ancient rotary, and listen for the tone. Peter was waiting patiently, smiling softly as he felt the fibers of the paper between his fingers. He froze.

This wasn't Olivia's phone number.

Peter raised the slip, sniffing it. There was no trace of the lotion she used, only the sour scent of ballpoint ink, and the end wasn't torn, as if a piece from a larger sheet of print, such as a flyer. And Peter suddenly realized his error; this was the ticket, handwritten to take down on costs, for their festival photo, and he'd gotten it mixed up, in his pocket.

Peter cursed, and threw down the receiver, raising his fingers to bury them in his hair and slump against the wall.

Walter emerged from the living room, smoothing his sweater vest flat on his stomach, "Now just what seems to be so important, eh?" He grumped.

"Never mind, Walter," Peter sighed, forlorn.

"Never mind what, exactly?"

"It was a stupid idea," Peter confessed, "I was thinking about what you said, about today being a kite kind of day… no, it's stupid, we've got work to do…"

"If it means getting out of chores, I'll make it happen," Walter assured him, "tell me your troubles, son."

xXx

"This is stupid, Walter- we don't even know if she's in-"

"Quit your whining and ring the doorbell!" Walter snapped, crossing his arms across his chest, "If your nose was as good as your yammering skills, we'd have been here three hours ago. And she's in, I can hear her in the kitchen."

"Why are you forcing me to do this?!" Peter demanded, "I told you it was a stupid idea-"

Walter reached out to ring the doorbell with a flat frown.

"Walter--!"

It was a few moments before the door opened a wedge, one of Olivia's emerald eyes showing, "Hello?"

"Oh- um, hey, Olivia," Peter greeted with an awkward grin.

"Peter?" The door chain rattled loose, and she opened the door, standing on the threshold in flannel pajama bottoms and a grey college sweatshirt, "Wow, hi. I thought maybe you'd forgotten about me, since I haven't heard from you since the fair… hello, Walter," she smiled.

"You smell like cornflakes," Walter murmured pleasantly.

"Thank you."

"Uh- no, no, I didn't forget," Peter said, "I just-"

"I'm afraid the error was mine, miss Dunham," Walter interjected in explanation, "You see, at my age, I am a bit lacking, in my memory, and I forgot to pay the phone bill, thusly resulting in the apparent lapse of communication. We were on our way back from speaking to the gent at the phone company, and were in the neighborhood, so we thought we'd say hello."

"Oh. Well, hello," Olivia said, "would you like to come in?" she offered, stepping aside.

Peter was about to protest when Walter once more interrupted her, "If only for a while, and only if we don't inconvenience."

"No, no, not at all," Olivia said, leading them inside, "forgive the place, it's a mess. I wasn't really doing anything today anyways- Rachel is out job hunting and Ella's at school, so I'm just left to hold down the fort." She lead them into the living room, offering them a seat on the low couch. The room was scattered with toys and DVD cases, and a few magazines littered the mahogany coffee table.

"And what is it that you do, miss Dunham?" Walter questioned as he took a seat in the armchair, smoothly freeing the couch beside Peter.

"Well, I guess you could say that I'm a cop," Olivia answered, taking the seat without a thought, "I'm a special agent for the FBI."

Walter and Peter's brows shot up in surprise, "Really?" Peter said.

"Yeah. Trust me, it's not as exciting as it sounds," she assured them, taking to stacking the magazines as she spoke. Peter took note that she leveled them out into two even piles of four, discarding an odd one onto the side table, "What do you do, Dr. Bishop?"

"Oh, I'm retired, now," Walter answered, "but I _was_ your typical bounce boy."

"Bounce boy…?" Olivia questioned looking to Peter for clarification.

"Physicist- 'bounce' as in the laws of gravity. Walter was a quantum mechanic." Peter answered, frowning at his father.

"Peter used to tell his teachers his daddy was a mad scientist," Walter beamed, "It was the cutest thing!"

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Peter grumped.

Olivia smiled, "What do you do, Peter?" she questioned. Walter raised his brows.

Peter chuckled, shifting in his seat, "I take care of my father," he answered at last.

"He _was _on his way to finishing his doctorate in genetic whatchamacallit," Walter added unnecessarily, and Peter glared sharply, "what?! You're a bright boy, Peter, if only you had the discipline!"

"Genetic whatchamacallit?" Olivia grinned, "Seems like mad science runs in the family."

"Whoa- hey, it's _antithetic genetics_," Peter clarified, "and there's no way I'm following a family tradition, here- no one in their right mind studies quantum physics, okay?"

"As opposed to a field of genetics that has yet to exist," Walter muttered, "You'd have done just as well to become a chemist, break your father's heart."

"Hey, I couldn't just leave you on your own, after you escaped-" Peter paused suddenly, and Walter had to blink to keep his pupils from contracting with alarm as they glanced at Olivia.

She was silent for a few moments in thoughtful contemplation, straitening the magazines as she fought to control her expression. At last she burst into laughter, and Peter and Walter looked at one another in alarm, "I'm sorry," she said at last, clearing her throat, "I'm just having a hard time imagining what the hell a 'bounce boy' could do to get himself locked up. Rob a bank with electrons?"

"It's possible," Walter frowned, slightly offended, "physicist are always greatly underestimated."

Olivia stood, chuckling as she dusted the front of her sweatpants, "I'm sure they do. Don't worry, Walter- I don't have my cuffs on me, so we're good. Hot chocolate, anyone?" and she moved off, toward the kitchen.

"With cinnamon candies in the bottom!" Walter called after her, and he turned his bright gaze to his son, "I really like her, Peter!"

"That's because she's not _arresting_ you, you jackass!" Peter hissed, "Walter, get your coat back on, we have to get out of here before you make me into any more of an idiot. Why'd you have to tell her I dropped out?!"

"I didn't tell her you forged your degree later, did I? Weren't you going to invite her to fly kites with us this afternoon? "

"Get up, we're going!"

Walter was grumbling as he rose from his seat, stuffing his arms into the sleeves of his overcoat. He suddenly stilled Peter with a hand to the chest, and as Peter looked up at him, he heard what his father had.

"There's someone else in the house," Peter said, and Walter gave a quick nod. Peter's eyes widened, "Olivia-!" and he darted for the kitchen.

Peter slowed his pace as he neared the entryway, keeping to the dusky shadows and out of view. He could smell traces of cocoa powder mixed with the vibrant scent of the cinnamon candies on the counter, and could hear Olivia pouring the water into each of the mugs. Then, he heard the nearly mute creak of shoes on the linoleum tiles, as someone moved toward her.

Peter erupted into the kitchen in a flurry of feathers and fangs, and the intruder gave a cry as Peter pounced on him with a snarl, lifting him by the collar and pinning him against the wall. There was a loud _crack!_, and Peter gave a sharp hiss as he felt a burning pain at the back of his shoulder, forcing him to drop his prey and recoil. Peter bared his fangs in warning as he gripped his injured shoulder and turned to see Olivia, clutching a smoking revolver level with his chest as her eyes began to round.

"Olivia…" Peter said, his pupils receding as his stomach contorted with dread, "I…"

"What…?" Olivia stammered, "What the hell _are _you…?!"

xXx


	7. Chapter 7

7.

"Peter."

No response.

"_Peeeeeeter_." His father always used that little sing-song tone, when he was trying not to anger him, and would often tie in an accent for kicks, "Y'all can't go back to sleep yet. We've still got quite a few months to go, 'fore the solstice."

"Leave me alone, Walter," Peter grumbled.

Walter perched at the foot of Peter's bed, tipping an old, wooden abacus back and fourth to listen to the clatter of the beads, "You've won the game, son," he said, moving on without his terrible southern accent, "You've been winning for two days, now, and I'm not going to lie- you're bumming me out."

Peter said nothing, glaring at the wall before burying his face into the pillow and throwing the blankets over his head.

Walter frowned with worry, "Do you want me to make pancakes?" He offered hopefully.

"No."

"Do you want a coke? I know they're your favorite."

"No."

Walter curled his tail around the bedpost, twisting the graying hairs of his tuft in his fingertips, "I'm sorry I embarrassed you in front of Olivia," he said.

"It wasn't you, Walter, I've told you that," Peter muttered.

"The why are you angry?"

"I'm not angry."

"You are angry."

"I'm not angry!" Peter snapped. He could feel Walter's eyes crossing over his shrouded form, and issued a sharp sigh, "fine, I'm angry- but it's only because you won't leave me alone!"

"That's because you're angry!" Walter exclaimed.

Peter kicked the blankets away, rolling off the side of the bed to pull on a pair of jeans and his work boots. Walter watched him, confused at his son's sudden movements, "Where are you going?" He questioned curiously.

"I'm going to spilt some wood! Physical labor repulses you, so maybe I'll get some peace!" Peter stomped his way downstairs, fuming.

Walter beat him to the woodpile, scrambling across the roof and sliding his way down the recently refurbished rain gutter to land on all fours on the back porch. He sprang onto the railing, balancing on it for a few moments before falling to land back on his haunches with a grunt, "Is there something we need to talk about, son?"

"No, Walter," Peter growled, lifting the axe away from its leaned place against the tarped stacks of wood, "Just get out of the way, would you?"

Walter climbed to his feet, dusting his trousers, "Listen, Peter- I'm glad your shoulder is feeling better, but I don't think you're quite ready to-"

"What do you want me to say, Walter?!" Peter suddenly burst, "Do you want me to say you were right? Fine then -_you were right!_ You were right about all of it- whatever I am, I can't lie about it, and humans suck, okay?!"

Walter's brows drew with concern, "Um…"

"Now would you just leave me alone?!"

Walter retracted slightly, then sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets and walking away, hanging his head.

Peter watched him go, and echoed his father's sigh, kicking as a chip of bark in the dirt. He took to pulling loose the knots on the tarp ties and selecting a piece of cordwood for the chopping block.

Peter felt the stretch of the bandages against his shoulder and the dull throb of a deep wound as he brought the axe over, missing the cordwood entirely. He cursed, clutching at his arm with a hiss.

"Hey there, fang face," someone said, and he looked up. Astrid graced him with a smile, "How're you doing?"

"Fine," Peter lied.

"How's your shoulder?" Astrid questioned.

"It's good. Walter treated it after we left. And we don't heal all slow, like you," Peter swung the axe again, and again missed his mark, and winced with pain. "We're nothing like you…"

Astrid frowned, "Peter, don't start. So we're different, different species, even- but that doesn't matter. I care about you, I love you and want to help you, and do I need claws and feathers for that, fang face?"

Peter sighed, and glanced up at her, "No."

"It works the other way, too. You don't have to be human to care about someone and want to protect them."

"But Walter-"

"Walter wanted to protect you, but he's old, you know. He can't protect you from everything, I have to keep him out of enough trouble of his own anyways. But you two are so alike, its scary, sometimes. Once burned, twice shy." Astrid leaned forward to rest her elbows on the porch railing, "Skittish. You may think that you're a big, ugly, scary monster that will scare everyone away, but… I think you're more afraid of them than they will ever be of you."

Peter struggled for a comment, but failed, and only remained silent.

"When I caught Walter stealing tomatoes in my garden, the first time he and I met, do you think I was scared?" Astrid questioned.

Peter chuckled quietly, "No. I don't know."

"I was _shocked_, Peter. But fascinated. Not by the fact that the two of you were different in body, but different in mind. You're _brilliant_, Peter. And handsome, and kind. I can't imagine a woman who wouldn't want to know you, with or without the tail," Astrid smiled as Peter watched her, searching her face for a answer to the mystery in her expression, "And I think, if anything, you've got Olivia fascinated."

"But she-"

"She shot you, yeah. But _at_ not you, at the burglar that was supposed to be where you were. What did she say, after she saw you?"

"She asked what I was."

"What did you say?" Astrid questioned.

"Nothing," Peter admitted, "because I don't know."

"No, because you were scared. You were afraid of what she thought of you- and you never stopped to think that maybe we're all a little afraid to be who we are. That's the box we keep shut and locked, the box we only show the people we trust."

"Olivia-"

"You trusted her enough to save her, and enough to leave her with the knowledge of what you are," Astrid pointed out, "You've trusted her all along, Peter, or you wouldn't have spoken to her in the first place. That night, Walter chose to meet me- he could have just as easily taken my tomatoes and disappeared. He made a choice, and so did you."

"But what if it's the wrong choice?" Peter blurted.

Astrid smiled again, setting her hands on her hips, "We have yet to be surrounded with angry, torch and pitchfork wielding villagers, I think."

Peter suddenly frowned, "You freak me out, sometimes," he said, "like, smart. You're way too smart."

"But you love me," Astrid chuckled, descending the stairs to wrap him into a hug.

"So what do I do now?" Peter asked quietly.

"Fly a kite," Astrid answered.

xXx

The kite was so far off, he could no longer hear the pressure of the stiff breeze flapping against the vibrant red paper. Walter had been more than willing to make Peter a kite in an attempt to make up for his own actions, and Peter had suddenly felt terrible, for the way he had spoken to his father. Peter had retired, at last, to the solemn solace of the scraggly tree just over the hill. To wait, he assumed.

Peter stood until his legs got tired, then he sat, slowly unraveling the white cotton string until he had no more, and the kite was as far as he could allow, and he had tied the string around his finger to fiddle with as he pleased. He had watched the kite until his neck started to hurt, then lay back in the failing grass, sighing as he continued to watch the rectangle of red on the backdrop of blue. Peter did not know how long he had watched.

Dusk began to fade the light, and the wind started to calm, when he suddenly heard the crush of grass underfoot. Nearly dozing, he looked up.

"Hey."

Peter bolted up, the string tangling around his arm as he hurriedly tried to dust grass from his shirt, "Olivia- hey, what are you…?" he suddenly fell silent as she watched him.

"I'm sorry I shot you in the shoulder," she said at last.

"Oh. No problem."

"Yeah- you know, that burglar? That was Greg, my sister's ex. She changed the locks, so he was trying to get in to get some of his stuff. You probably saved his life- no one would have believed I shot him in self-defense, I hate that guy." She chuckled quietly, and Peter smiled.

They were silent for a bit more.

"Thank you, by the way. For jumping on him for me. You're… you're pretty fast."

"Yeah," Peter replied.

Olivia nodded, "So, Peter, I know I was kind of rude about it, before, but you never answered me- what are you, exactly?"

"A vampire," Peter answered.

"Really?"

Peter laughed, "No! Vampire's aren't real, ya crazy woman."

Olivia shook her head with a grin, "Yet still a smart ass. But, I guess… You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

"Do you want to know?" Peter questioned.

"Yes."

"I guess… The term 'monster' works."

"You're a monster?"

"Pretty much."

"Like, created by a mad scientist and escaped from a lab? Oh god- Walter didn't _create_ you, did he?" Olivia said, half-joking.

Peter laughed openly, "No! You watch way too much Halloween programming! No, Walter is my father. He's like me. Not human."

"I had suspicions about him, I'll admit," Olivia confessed.

"Walter likes being who he is," Peter agreed.

Olivia took a seat, looking up at the lazily drifting kite, "And you don't like who you are?" she asked, glancing at him.

Peter sat beside her, "I don't have a lot of friends," he answered, "not a lot of people are willing to accept bogymen at the drop of a hat."

"So the stories about your house being haunted were true," Olivia smiled.

"Yeah, those," Peter chuckled, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck uneasily, "Well, the thing is… it's weird, with our kind. Let's just say that Astrid spreads a bit of rumors around town, to give us our peace and quiet. Like that story, at the fair- vintage Astrid, with minor changes."

"How minor?"

"We don't eat just pumpkins. And Walter only steals tomatoes, because he forgets to water his own and they die," Peter explained with a grin.

Olivia's own smile faded slightly, and suddenly she reached forward, touching his horn again, "These are real."

Peter swallowed, "Yes."

"What else do you have? I mean, stuff that's different, that… monsters have, and humans don't. You've got horns and wings, that's kind of like a demon or something, isn't it?" She paused, "Antithetic genetics- you were studying it to classify yourself."

"Yeah," Peter said, "maybe Walter is content to accept what he is without question, but I'm curious. Someday I'd like to adopt a more appropriate title than 'monster'. A little degrading, don't you think?"

Olivia smiled softly, "I guess so. I think it's kind of cute."

"Are you scared of me?" Peter questioned.

Olivia looked at him seriously, "Peter, I deal with deranged, psychopathic killers on a regular basis. I'd say finding a friendly monster is good news, if anything."

"So… you don't mind, then? It doesn't bother you, knowing that humans aren't the only ones out there?"

"How _many _of you are there?" Olivia asked, tracing a strand of hair from her face as the breeze had tugged it out of place, "Where do you live? How do you live, without people knowing what you are?"

"Well, we don't, in short," Peter explained, "we just hide. Not everyone is cool with us. They have a different kind of fascination," Peter looked up at the kite, now drifting lower and lower as it lost the wind, "they think of us as animals to be studied. Walter… they had him, once."

"He escaped from them."

"Yes. He got out, and we came here- I've been here ever since." Peter began to wind in the string around his fingers, pulling in the rapidly falling kite, "the only people that have existed in my life since have been Walter and Astrid. And… well, you, now, I guess."

"I have a lot of questions," Olivia admitted.

Peter smiled, "I have a lot of answers, if you're interested."

xXx


	8. Final Chapter

FINAL CHAPTER.

"She is _out_," Olivia was chuckling as she draped her coat over the curled form of a sleeping gypsy in the back seat of the Vista Cruiser. Ella had changed her mind about her costume yet again, only a few hours before they had gone out trick-or-treating.

"It's late," Peter agreed, as he leaned in to gather Ella up, lifting her out of the car gently, "I kind of think that maybe we stayed out too long…"

"I'm sure Rachel will understand Ella's insistence, on getting those last few houses," Olivia said, shutting the car door gently as they turned toward the house. She carried with her a pillowcase of candy, and was searching around inside, "she got a pretty good haul this year, too."

"When I was a kid, I used to be a contest of seeing how long I could make the candy last, afterward," Peter said, as they made their way up the steps to the front door, "I always lost- when you've got Walter as a father, no candy stash is safe."

"I imagine not-" Olivia started, before she was interrupted as the door swung open. Rachel blinked at them, "Hey, Rach."

"Hey, Liv. Oh, Ella," Rachel sighed fondly, accepting her sleeping form out of Peter's arms, "The little beast just ran herself ragged, didn't she?"

"More or less," Peter agreed.

"You're a bad influence on her, Peter," Rachel smirked, "I had her all set to thinking adults were boring and never did anything. You and Liv have gone and blown that one, thanks a lot."

"Sorry," Peter and Olivia said together.

Rachel laughed, "Well, I'm going to get this gremlin to bed. Goodnight, Peter."

"Goodnight," Peter answered. Rachel left the door open as she disappeared.

"I hope this wasn't too boring," Olivia said, "I know it isn't how you like to spend you Halloweens."

"What, brooding and doing housework?" Peter smirked, "No moment I spend with you is boring, Olivia. You kick the crap out of rewiring the house, trust me."

Olivia laughed, "Thanks, I guess," she said. Peter smiled again, set to turn and leave, before she stopped him, "Peter, wait."

Peter turned back, his brows raised.

Olivia leaned forward to kiss him, her fingers gathering the front of his blazer. Unconsciously he felt his arms slip around her middle, drawing her in closer. At last she pulled away only slightly to look up, into his face, "I have to go back to New York," she said.

"What?"

"It's for work. Trust me, I don't want to. I don't want to go back there, to my job where I only deal with the worst of things. All the time I spend with you, Peter… it feels like the world doesn't exist. And after meeting you, I just don't want to see that side of the world, anymore." She dropped her gaze as she continued to fiddle with his jacket front.

"Then why are you going back?" Peter questioned.

"Because I _have _to. Just because I don't want everything else to exist doesn't mean it stops. And I have a responsibility, to protect people… so that they can go on, and pretend it doesn't exist." Olivia dropped her hands with a sigh, "I guess you wouldn't understand, I know it sounds nuts."

"Hey," Peter lifted her chin with his fingertips to look into her sad green irises, "I _do_ understand. My life hasn't exactly been a fairytale, Olivia. In fact, it pretty much sucked, until I met you. But I understand what it means, to protect someone."

Olivia smiled, "So I guess that means you don't want to come back with me," she said.

"Want to? Hells yes, I want to. But I can't. Just as you have responsibilities, so do I," Peter said, "I'm sorry. I have to protect Walter. The world you hate- it creeps up on him every day. It creeps up on us all. And you and I- we have to do what we can to stop it, don't we?"

Olivia raised her arms to wrap them around his neck, "A philosophical monster, huh?"

"Nope. Just an average idiot," Peter answered, stooping to kiss her again.

xXx

Peter could hear the gentle crackling of the wood fireplace in his father's den and smell the musky sent of faint wood smoke as he quietly shut the front door, muting the jingling of his keys with his palm as he placed them on the side table. He pulled off his coat and hung it near the door, and slid off his boots, his footfalls muted by his socks as he shuffled down the entryway and into the living room, headed for the stairs.

Walter's form appeared in the doorway of the den, his silhouette inky with the backlighting of the flickering firelight, "It's late, son," he said.

Peter paused at the banister, "Yeah."

"How was your wild rumpus?" Walter questioned, a smile in his voice.

Peter chuckled quietly, "It wasn't a wild rumpus, Walter. We just took Ella out for trick-or-treating."

"And how was that?"

"Fun. More fun than it was when I was a kid."

"Good, good."

They were silent for a few moments. "How was your night?" Peter asked.

"Good," Walter turned to look over his shoulder, back at the couch in the den, and his expression was finally visible, showing a small, fond smile, "She's sleeping, now."

Peter stared at his father for a few moments, "Walter, you didn't…?"

Walter raised his brows in question.

"…Astrid…?"

"Who? Gene. She wandered over this afternoon, it was wonderful to see her. I didn't think the Tullocks would mind, so I made her a place in the well house." Peter could not tell if his father were serious or not, behind his enigmatic smile.

Peter shook his head, deciding not to bother, "Never mind. Which reminds me," Peter delved into his pocket, "Olivia sent this for you," Peter approached his father, extending a Sugar Daddy.

Walter chuckled, taking it from him, "I really like her, son," he said.

"She's going back to New York," Peter said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She told me tonight she's got to go back, for work."

"Are you going with her?" Walter questioned.

"She offered, but I said no."

"Why?"

Peter smiled, "Because you'd hate New York," he answered.

Walter smiled in return, "I see."

"She says she'll visit for Christmas," Peter said, "That's only a month, so I guess I'll live. Besides, if I left you here by yourself, this house would end up in worse condition than it is after every oversummer."

Walter chuckled, "True, true. But Peter- there's nothing keeping you from visiting her every now and again, you know. She's a woman with a purpose, and a very important one, at that. Perhaps she can help you find a purpose of your own." Walter retreated into the den, fiddling with his candy, "Just food for thought."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to be stuck here with you anyways," Peter chided, and Walter laughed back. Peter tromped up stairs.

Peter sighed as he set to stripping of his clothes and starting the shower. He played with the steam on the mirror for a few moments, before stepping into the tub and turning his face to the shower with a sigh.

It would be a long wait. But he'd waited far longer, for Olivia to come along, and it had been more than worth it.

xXx

END.

_And again, happy Halloween, everyone. ~F_


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